


Welcome to Winterpeg!

by MapleLeafSquareRoot



Category: Schitt's Creek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-10-11 11:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20545154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleLeafSquareRoot/pseuds/MapleLeafSquareRoot
Summary: Thank you to my beta [to be revealed], and a shout out to all my fellow longterm residents of the Rosebudd.





	Welcome to Winterpeg!

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SCFrozenOver](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCFrozenOver) collection. 

> Thank you to my beta [to be revealed], and a shout out to all my fellow longterm residents of the Rosebudd.

Winnipeg doesn’t have a CN Tower, Statue of Liberty or Eiffel Tower to greet you as your plane breaks through the lowest layer of clouds upon descent. Its skyline is nothing to write home about - with its six tallest buildings being clustered in the[ centre of the city](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Portage_and_Main) , and the remaining architecture modest and spread out across Manitoba’s capital city. But there are multiple indicators that you have arrived in Friendly Manitoba, beginning with the fluffy blue [ HUG RUG](https://www.waa.ca/media/gallery/index,show/5/ywg-hug-rug/9) at James Richardson International Airport. 

This is where the majority of Ray’s family had gathered on a blustery December 24th evening, welcoming him back to Winnipeg after several years’ absence. 

Earlier in the fall, Ted had filled Ray in on the trials and _ tree _ -bulations of Damn Pine Coffee - Elmdale’s Christmas Tree Farm & Café. The summer had seen unusually high volumes of pine beetles, and unlike Schitt’s Creek City Council, Elmdale had been slower to move on larviciding, and fields of future Christmas trees had seen their demise. This meant that Ray’s farm, more of a hobby than anything else, would be the sole provider of Christmas trees in a 100 kilometre radius, and this was _ tree _-mendous pressure. The last few weeks had been exhausting, though he had been able to increase profits significantly at the last minute with his Christmas Eve surge-pricing. Nothing wrong with benefiting from others’ poor planning - in fact, it was just good business, and Ray would be the last to eschew a good business practice. 

It was no surprise then, that Ray found himself exhausted, and ready for a break, as he finally disembarked the plane in Winnipeg, and headed towards the stairs to the baggage claim. As soon as the pneumatic doors opened, all nine of the assembled Butanis erupted into happy cheers from the HUG RUG at the base of the stairs. He immediately felt a second wind as he descended towards his loved ones, and was lovingly wrapped into tight hugs, and smothered with kisses. Luggage was claimed, and the boisterous Butani entourage headed out to the parkade. Ray did his best to keep up, as family gossip and plans for the week were bandied about, desperately trying to stifle his yawn. 

The first inhale of the air outside felt like knives in his lungs, and Ray immediately questioned the wisdom of visiting Winnipeg in the middle of winter. He had checked the forecast, hoping for an unseasonably warm winter, perhaps like in 1997 when there was uncharacteristically no snow on Christmas Eve, and being outside required little more than a light jacket. That was Ray’s last year in Winnipeg, before he moved to Schitt’s Creek, and the family had spent the 25th at [ The Forks ](https://www.theforks.com/) , revelling in the quiet created by the absence of those at home celebrating Christmas. On the way home, they picked up dinner from [ Good Earth ](https://www.goodearthrestaurant.ca/) , crowding into the tiny vestibule area with a cultural mosaic of families, and the evening ended comfortably curled up next to the fireplace with a cup of tea. Unfortunately, the forecasted highs were not to exceed -25C, with the winds making it feel closer to -35C. The temperature at night would plummet to -40C. The only silver lining was that these sorts of temperatures were typically accompanied by brilliantly sunny skies that made the snow sparkle, creating picturesque and romantic winter scenes, to be fully and completely enjoyed _ from inside. _

Ray’s uncle Kabir, the Winnipeg Patriarch, had waited in the large Ford passenger van, keeping it warm. Ray climbed into the passenger seat and was greeted with a kiss on the cheek. Kabir was a man of few words, and Ray was grateful to have some breathing room and space to decompress as they drove. Kabir navigated the road out of the airport, heading towards the Butani family home in south Winnipeg. 

As the family chattered excitedly in the back seats, Ray silently took stock of some of the other key indicators that he was in Winnipeg:

  * the iconic[ HUMBUG](https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/manitoba/humbug-sign-winnipeg-christmas-lights-1.4458582) sign, perennially hung on the same apartment balcony;
  * the congestion as traffic moved south and the inevitable near-miss that would occur as someone navigated the east-bound off ramp incorrectly;
  * nearly every street sign in both French and English;
  * patrons waiting for perpetually tardy Winnipeg Transit buses, bundled up so tightly you can only see the misery in their eyes;
  * the gaudy IKEA sign, visible kilometres in advance due to its height; and 
  * the inordinately large numbers of poor drivers. 

Since his last visit, the Butani family had relocated to a new subdivision - Bridgwater Forest. Having long-since worked in real estate, Ray was increasingly critical of subdivision names, and Bridgwater Forest was not exempt. For one, where was the “e”? He couldn’t help but read it as Brid-gwater. Secondly, it sounded as though they had just picked three random exterior features - “Bridge, Water, Forest.” Regardless, he kept it to himself, as the family was thrilled to have a larger space and access to major thoroughfares and amenities. 

Kabir pulled into the Sobey’s parking lot, at the request of Ray’s cousin Ami, who in turn asked Ray if he had any requests. Only one thing came to mind. Realistically, there wasn’t much in Winnipeg that Ray couldn’t source out in a day trip to Toronto, but Toronto’s distance from prairie producers meant that rye bread was scarce, and quite frankly, of a poorer quality than what was readily available in the west. He looked forward to his morning coffee, and some thick sliced[ Winnipeg Rye Bread](https://www.reddit.com/r/Winnipeg/comments/69f2jp/why_is_rye_bread_so_popular_in_winnipeg/). Ami, knowing Ray’s penchant for carbs, was only too happy to oblige. 

With one last stop at the Manitoba Liquor Commission for a bottle of Maple liqueur, the Butanis were at last headed towards home, where Ray would greet the remainder of his family, make promises to catch them all up in the morning, and fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

+++

Ray awoke to[ loud music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aUlfHftEtHA) emanating from the floor below. It was still dark out, but the house was alive with Butani energy. Knowing that his only energy expenditure for the day was spending quality time with his family, Ray leapt from his bed, splashed some cold water on his face, threw on a pair of flannel pants and a t-shirt and headed downstairs. 

Another round of hugs and kisses slowed his progress towards the kitchen, a hot cup of coffee and the satisfying crunch of toasted rye bread, but he didn’t mind. He had missed his family.

Back home in Schitt’s Creek, he felt the constant pressure of upholding his image as an outgoing extrovert. Which, while true, didn’t mean that he didn’t enjoy periodically being able to sit back and let others take the social reigns. 

While he spread margarine on his toast, his cousin Arjun came up behind him and put another two slices of bread in the toaster. Ray turned to him, gesturing towards the margarine container with his knife - “_open, or closed?_”

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
